


(morituri te salutant)

by orphan_account



Category: Ancient Roman Religion & Lore
Genre: Crack, Death in the Arena, Gen, Getting eaten by Lions, Public Execution, Reference to Shakespeare, You‘re bad at Latin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 02:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20807234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	(morituri te salutant)

You’re already retching from all the dust in this place, how it enters your lungs and slowly chokes you. It is dark. You can already hear the crowds chanting and cheering, thirsty for blood. Circenses. Maybe choking would be a much more pleasant death, you think. Not necessarily faster, but at least dignified. Don’t let them see the fear in your eyes. Never, even when you take your last breath. 

The doors open to reveal the eyes of Rome’s citizens only on you. You can see the relief, that it’s you, not them. They are all honourable men. There sits the emperor in all his finery, sprawled out in most exquisite purple, golden laurels on his head. He has a cold smile on his features, beak distorted unnaturally. His voice is booming through the arena.   
“Please translate the sentence:   
‘The man and his children have milk.’”

Desperate, you try to force your brain into thinking about cases and declensions, plural forms “V-vir et liber-libr-...” In vain. It’s all gone. You’re doomed.

“Looks like you’ve missed your Latin lessons...,” he says with a cold sneer. Then he turns toward the people “What shall we do with this wretched barbarian?”

The thumbs go down. He looks for a moment, before lowering his own. Why does he have thumbs? Since when do owls have thumbs?

“In the name of Emperor Duonius Lingus Augustus Caesar, you are sentenced to die in the arena.”

A door opposite you opens. A hungry-looking lion comes out. You wish you could beg for your life in Latin, but the only sentence that comes to mind is “The boy studies and sleeps.” You send a hasty prayer to Jupiter or that weird Christian God or whoever will hear you as beast is creeping closer.


End file.
